


monstrous

by gotfanfiction



Series: Monsters and Witchers [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Feral Behavior, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), They're mostly not good ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26668582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotfanfiction/pseuds/gotfanfiction
Summary: Most Witchers can pass for human in dim lighting, if they keep their mouths shut and eyes averted, but not Geralt.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Monsters and Witchers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995835
Comments: 16
Kudos: 185





	monstrous

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt’s extra trials and mutagens made him extra monstery, poor Geralt
> 
> As always, Hannah made me do it

Geralt hides his fangs and claws behind glamours, when he's forced to mingle among humans, but there's no disguising the size of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he has to stoop to enter most buildings. He's spent most of his life hating it, even as he's thankful for it, because however monstrous he may be, his strength has kept him and others safe. 

Extra mutagens. More trials. Most Witchers can pass for human in dim lighting, if they keep their mouths shut and eyes averted, but not Geralt. He understands why people are so afraid of him, loathes them for it, forgives them for it. Sometimes he's afraid of himself, too. 

Like right now, he muses, somewhere deep inside himself, but thoughts are slipping away like sand between his fingers, everything faded against the bright flare of his rage. Geralt  _ roars, _ a deafening sound, his ears ringing from adrenaline, heartbeat pulsing behind his eyes, the scent of blood thick in his nose, his mouth. 

The humans who have them surrounded all flinch back in unison, and it satisfies him for once, that they're afraid, that they stink of terror. It's the last clear thing he remembers, before the bloodlust overtakes him, before he has his revenge.

*--*

It was a surprise, to see Eskel so early in the year, both having caught wind of an unusually favorable contract. The pay was excellent, and it was only a bit suspicious, considering the wealth of this particular village. It was full of fat, happy people, who wanted whatever it was gone, and quickly. 

"I almost didn't recognize you," Eskel brushed a knuckle down Geralt’s cheek, a burning little thrill. "You've got your face on. Practically a stranger." 

"Not enough magic in the world to make me less hideous, and you know it." Geralt was hunched over, his usual posture when among ordinary people, a cloak tossed over his shoulders, doing his best to ignore the little spurts of fear from anyone who looked at him. 

Eskel gave him the same look he always did: mild disbelief mixed with sympathy. But he said nothing, and Geralt was grateful for it. He didn't want to fight. They agreed to take the contract, but to claim that Geralt had left; neither of them wanted to deal with skin flint humans, and Geralt went to go camp in the woods. 

He set up a small camp, Roach loosely tied to a tree, enough slack in the rope so she could graze to her heart's content, and Geralt missed Eskel already, which was both ridiculous and very typical of him. He reminded himself that it was a rare treat to see the other Witcher at all during the year, and that after the hunt they would probably get up to their usual sport, the thought sending shivers over his skin. 

It would be wonderful. Gods, it had only been a few months and he already felt like he was starved for touch, gentle hands on his twisted shell. No one was more gentle than Eskel; no one loved him better, or so well. 

*--*

It had been a trap. A mere twist of luck had them agreeing to Geralt staying back aways, out of sight, ready to step in if necessary, if whatever they were investigating turned out to be immediately dangerous. These humans were either clever or very used to hunting Witchers, their scents more or less disguised, and within a blink Eskel had been encircled, more than a dozen crossbows and swords leveled at him.

And Eskel was quick, and more skilled with signs than perhaps any other Witcher alive, but a few bolts slipped through his shield when he made to defend himself, Geralt bursting through the treeline only to watch one sink into Eskel's back, dangerously close to his spine, and another into his thigh. 

One great leap has him right next to Eskel, who's gone pale, bleeding freely, and Geralt catches him, lowers him onto his side, and he's panicking, he's terrified, he's  _ angry. _

How dare they?  _ How dare they hurt him; he's going to kill them  _ **_all._ **

*--*

Geralt came back to himself slowly, dizzy like he'd overdosed on potions, like he hadn't eaten in weeks, tongue thick in his mouth. His throat  _ hurt, _ and he figured he could blame the growling for that, and it took effort to stop, to take a deep breath, to open his eyes. He felt sticky, and all he could really smell was blood and viscera, gory remains of people that had been torn apart.

That  _ he _ had torn apart, he dully thought, horror seeping in, whatever satisfaction he was feeling evaporating away; he felt hollowed out, and he could hear Eskel soothing him, trapped underneath his body, and  _ gods,  _ he was hurt, wasn't he? How could he have forgotten?

Geralt tore himself away, heart pounding in a way it never did, guts churning, and he was suddenly desperate to get the taste of blood, of  _ flesh, _ out of his mouth. His stomach heaved, and he only barely managed to turn his head to side as he vomited, and it was so godsdamned  _ red. _

He tried to scramble away from Eskel, who had somehow managed to get himself up, to get close enough to touch, but he was shaking, arms weak. He heard a couple of grunts, along with the sick sound of flesh being torn, and he whimpered, shoulders curling in, but Eskel, who loved him best of all, who  _ understood _ him, who saw him the clearest, just pushed his way into Geralt's arms, hands wiping at the tears and blood on his face, gentle as always, kinder than he would ever deserve. 

"It's alright," a whisper, voice jagged with pain, hoarse from shouting, "It's alright, Geralt. You kept me safe, kept us both safe. You did good. I love you, I  _ love _ you, thank you for protecting me.  _ Thank you." _

He couldn't bear it. He needed it. He turned into it, sobs bubbling up, cracked open and raw. Eskel helped him to their camp, settled him down, washed the worst of the gore off, laid himself down on Geralt’s chest. He couldn't have been hurt too terribly, the bolts missing his vital areas, wounds already closing, but Geralt had no words to describe what he had felt, when Eskel had staggered, jeered at by his attackers.

If he could, he would keep him safe always, held in his arms, at peace, at rest. But they were Witchers, and Witchers weren't meant for safety, for peace, for anything but the brutal nature of the Path. Geralt curled as much of himself as he could around Eskel, his body the only shield he had at the moment, let himself be soothed into meditation, and then into sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really really wanted to get sex in here, but could not manage. Oh, well, that's what other chapters are for ;> On Twitter @gotfanfiction


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